JOHN TALBOT. Look forth! Look! And remember--when you meet
them--remember! (NEWCOMBE _stands swaying, clutching at the
grating of the window, as he looks forth._) Lads! (_Motions to_
BUTLER _and_ FENTON _to carry the powder to the stairhead._) The time
is short. His orders!
(DRISCOLL _raises his head and gazes fixedly toward the centre of
the room._)
FENTON. Yonder, at the stairhead.
BUTLER. Aye.
(FENTON _and_ BUTLER _carry the keg to the door._)
NEWCOMBE. Not that! Not that death! No! No!
JOHN TALBOT. Be silent! And look yonder! Driscoll! Fetch the
light! Newcombe! Come! You have your places, all.
DRISCOLL. But, Captain! The sixth man--where will the sixth man
be standing?
(_There is a blank silence, in which the men look questioningly at_
DRISCOLL'S _rapt face and at one another._)
JOHN TALBOT. Sixth?
FENTON. What sixth?
DRISCOLL. The blind eyes of ye! Yonder!
(_Comes to the salute, even as, a few moments before, he has
saluted_ HUGH TALBOT, _living._
NEWCOMBE _gives a smothered cry, as one who half sees, and takes
courage._ FENTON _dazedly starts to salute. Outside a bugle
sounds, and a voice, almost at the door, is heard to speak._)
VOICE OUTSIDE. For the last time: will you surrender you?
JOHN TALBOT (_in a loud and confident voice_). No! Not while our
commander stands with us!
VOICE OUTSIDE. And who might your commander be?
JOHN TALBOT. Hugh Talbot, the Captain of the Gate! The light
here, Phelimy.
(JOHN TALBOT _bends to set the candle to the powder that shall
destroy Cashala Gatehouse, and all within it. His mates are
gathered round him, with steady, bright faces, for in the little
space left vacant in their midst they know in that minute that_
HUGH TALBOT _stands._)
[CURTAIN]